


some fuckin stupid bullshit just read the tags and get off my balls

by Fuckboy Phoebus (The_Resurrection_3D)



Series: the prison trilogy [1]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Creampie, Dom/sub Undertones, Gangbang, I'M SO GLAD THAT'S A TAG NOW Y'ALL DON'T EVEN KNOW, M/M, Mentions Of Gender Dysphoria, Multi, Multiple Partners, Patryck is Jewish, Rough Sex, Spitroasting, Trans Male Character, handjobs, ruined orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-11-28 13:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18208721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Resurrection_3D/pseuds/Fuckboy%20Phoebus
Summary: I reach into hat labeled "story ideas." It says, "Everyone gangbangs Paul."Again?Hat falls and spills. They all say, "Everyone gangbangs Paul."





	some fuckin stupid bullshit just read the tags and get off my balls

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, yes this is a re-upload, yes the summary is just a ripoff of [this video about Sword Art Online,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOoiTEMTfyk) and again no, no one fucks the cat. 
> 
> Was going to flesh this out more but something really really bad happened today and this is all we're gonna get. The song mentioned at the end can be listened to [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUT8O9Dza_A)
> 
> EDIT 4/14/19: a few days removed from the Bad Bad Ungood Thing and I did flesh it out a little more, plus corrected some typos and consistency issues. If you want to read the original version, you can download it [here.](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1N9971UEUK7yBzXfexeApMau7kHKxICMn/view?usp=sharing) The Barthes book mentioned is _Sade, Fourier, Loyola_ ; Sade's work is _very_ triggering (for basically everything), so be careful if you're gonna look him up.
> 
> Enjoy! All feedback is appreciated! <3

I reach into hat labeled "story ideas." It says, "Everyone gangbangs Paul."

Again?

Hat falls and spills. They all say, "Everyone gangbangs Paul."

* * *

 Where do we start – at the original, with Paul nearly crushing Matt’s organs as he bounds over the couch, shoving Patyrck into so violent a kiss their teeth clack and he nearly trips them both into the wall? At the chronological beginning, with Patryck saying he needs to go back home for Rosh Hashanah and getting sidetracked for an extra two weeks?

Or at the original original, with Paul tied up to the wall, his legs hitched up towards his chest, and Edd, Matt, and Tom all ignoring Tord’s explicit directive to ignore him?

 _“Where’s your diiiiiiiiiick?”_ Edd drawls, settling down besides Paul on the floor. To be fair to Paul, he has a slight chub from having to get undressed and roped up, Tord plucking at the ropes to test the wall-hooks' resistance before squatting down, telling him to be good with a parting kiss, and leaving, ostensibly, to pick up some pizza.

That was thirty minutes ago.

“Edd, you can’t just ask someone where their dick is,” Tom says, though his voice gives out to laughter near the end. He sits down crisscross in front of Paul, leaning his chin into his palm, the other hand lazily trailing down Paul’s thigh. “Sorry, man.”

“It’s okay,” Paul says. “I’m used to it.” Then a small smile. “When I was playing American football, back in secondary school, the captain transferred and when he found out I took his place he brought his whole team to my house and they threw acorns at my window.”

The other boys snort.

And here Paul smiles wide and the room decides they like him: “So I had his ex open the window to tell him to fuck off.”

* * *

OH god where I am. I think I’m running a fever. There’s no light in here. Hello? Hello?

Someone threw a flashlight across the floor, but was gone when I finally turned it on. So that's fun.

What do I have in my notes?

_Tom and Matt both licking languidly on Paul’s dick, breaking off occasionally to kiss before Tom pushes Matt’s head away, Don’t kiss me, that’s gay._

Okay, good enough.

* * *

When the door opens, Paul nearly crushes Matt's organs in his rush over the back of the couch. 

Patryck sighs into a kiss, feeling those two weeks of lust and longing in the way Paul immediately tries to break the seam of his mouth with his tongue.

But Patryck pulls back.

Paul whimpers, confused, as Patryck rests their foreheads together, asking so sweetly, “Were you good for me while I was gone?”

“Yes sir.”

Snickers. 

A sideways glance at Tord, who nods.

Patryck gives Paul another, slightly deeper kiss, allowing his mouth to fall open. When Paul gasps into it, Patryck retreats again, one hand coming up to cup Paul’s cheek and the other his cock.

“So would you like your reward, then?”

Before Paul can reply, however, Tord smacks him upside the head. “Don’t say it.”

“Say what?” Patyrck asks.

“That corny shit I know he was about to say.”

“I wasn't gonna say anything!” Paul snaps back. “I was just gonna say yes and then grab his ass!”

And insert handjob I don’t feel like writing here.

* * *

Reading back over this, I forgot to mention that in the original version of the above scene, Paul is instead lying on the couch with Matt cuddling up to him and Edd sitting on the arm, watching with face flushed and pants growing tighter as Matt reconnects with his inner homewrecker, running his fingertips in circles on Paul's hip, whispering fantasies into his ear. What was Tom doing in this scene? I don't remember and I don't care.

Matt asks what Patryck gave him before he left.

“It’s hard to describe,” he says slowly.

Patryck had fucked him and Tord both like an animal, left them shaking at the merest touch — at the gentle movement of his mouth down their chests and stomachs, of his fingers gliding along the inside of their thighs or down the marbles of their backs.  
  
Had kissed Paul and whispered everything he loved about him before he had to go, and in the deafening emptiness that followed Paul had slept for fifteen hours and awoken reaching out for him in their bed.  
  
“He was...just, wow.”

Paul doesn’t see Matt’s brows knit ever so slightly. But it’s gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by a puppy pout, cuddling cheek-to-cheek as Matt begins to pump Paul tortuously light and slow.

“Poor Paulie,” Matt says, other hand reaching down to gently play with his balls, making Paul’s breath hitch.

* * *

 Paul’s groans turn to dry sobs as Patryck pulls back, until the only connection between their flesh is his fingers a ring around the base of Paul’s cock, holding his full release at bay.

“What was that for?” Paul asks. 

“Did you clean the bathroom while I was gone?”

Paul blinks in disbelief, struggling to regain his breath, before he finally stutters out: “It was Yuu’s turn!”

“But did you clean the bathroom?” Patryck asks again, louder to be heard over the sound of the others’ laughter.

“I did everything else you asked!”

“But did you clean the goddamn bathroom?”

Tord's laugh in particular grows louder as Patryck himself can’t help but titter, collecting some of the cum dripping long trails along Paul’s cock. “Alright,” he asks, turning his attention to his hosts. “Which one of you is the slutty one?”

Through Edd and Tom’s offended reactions comes Matt’s gleeful, “‘ello, yes, that’s me!” As he pushes himself off the floor and eagerly accepts Patryck’s dirty fingers into his mouth, cleaning them quickly with his tongue.

The emotion in Patryck's eyes is imperceptible. 

* * *

 I don't know why I thought writing in my own blood was a good idea.

* * *

  ~~He’s forgotten, though – are they supposed to represent “times he’s been fucked,” or simply the number of times someone’s used him to get off? Because he’s pretty sure two marks have been added since the purple one started bouncing on his cock, but –~~

~~The purple one grinds his hips down in a hard circle, riding out his third orgasm his head falls onto Paul’s shoulder, hot, panting breaths almost painful against Paul’s overstimulated flesh.~~

Paul keeps track of time with the tally marks drawn on his cheek.

With the blindfold over his eyes and the endless swapping of bodies onto and inside of him – hands and tongues and chapped lips and wet velvet and cocks of various sizes – the drawing of the tally marks is the only sensation distinct enough to keep him grounded, the firm tip of a body-safe marker from cheek bone to jaw.

And Patryck’s voice, too, whispering in his ear with every line:  _good boy, you’re doing so well…_

_You look so pretty spread open like this …_

_Color check-- Good, good. Alright, Tom, go ahead...._

_Swallow_  all _of it…_

Patryck’s hand on his jaw, forcing his head still as he drags another mark onto his skin. Patryck’s lips on his own, tongue on his tongue, fingers in his mouth.

 _“Please…”_ The word is strained as the blue one’s hips pound into him with a brutal rhythm – Paul only knows it’s the blue one because he mistakes Paul’s request for himself, asks, “Oh, you like that?”

Patryck knows better. He leans in, his lips against Paul’s, and asks, “Yes, dear?”

That must have pissed the blue one off, because he gives a particularly harsh trust, angling his hips up to slam against Paul’s prostate.

Paul gasps, legs shaking in their restraints as the pace continues, sending waves of pleasure-pain crashing over his head.

When Tom begins to drag his nails down Paul’s thighs, however, Patryck pipes up: “Do you mind?”

Tom’s hip still. His breathing is uneven, hair plastered to his face with sweat. “What?” he asks.

“Do you mind? We were trying to have a conversation here.”

“He was ignoring me!”

“From the looks of it” – with a very pointed glance between Tom’s legs – "you should be used to that by now.” 

* * *

“What time is it?” Paul asks breathlessly. “Like...one?” Patryck is gently, ticklishly kissing him behind the ear, tracing his fingertips down Paul's side and avoiding the pools of white, even as the purple one asks if he can help clean up and Patryck snaps at him to stay back. How many times have they all gone? It must have been at least twice for each of them except Pat, right? Or, wait, no, the green one, Edd, hasn't --

“Oh no, not even close,” Tord says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “It is...about to be 6:30.”

Patryck titters, cupping Paul’s face in his hands. “You alright, love?”

“Do you even know where you are?” Tord can barely contain his own laughter.

“I never know where I am!” Paul snaps back with a smile. “Haven’t I told you this before?”

Now Tord isn’t even trying.

“Where am I ?” Paul’s own suppressed laughter is shaking his frame, chaffing the ropes against his already sore wrists. “Who are you?”

Patryck’s head falls forward onto Paul’s shoulder, planting a chuckling kiss on his neck.

“Do you ever not disassociate just to flex on Paul?” The blue one asks, knocking back another shot, whereupon he squints at the bottom of his glass. “...what day is it again?”

“Saturday,” Edd says.

“Do you ever have a healthy liver just to flex on Tom?” The purple one quips back, and the cycle begins anew.

* * *

Now for a while I went back and forth on whether to keep Paul in these restraints --  legs held wide open by ropes tethered to the walls, knees practically on his shoulders -- because it's a wonderful image, of course, but the main appeal was having a brief aside where Edd mentions Ringo and Paul, still bound and naked, asks if he can pet her. 

He nearly cries when Edd brings her over. Ringo mewls, shows Paul her belly, and he really does cry as she sinks her claws into his loving hand. 

* * *

You know, the guy whose surname became our word _sadism_ also wrote pornography from prison. He stuffed the manuscript of his magnum opus in-between the bricks of his cell in the Bastille; I am finding no such hiding places. Oh well. Perhaps someone will find it ~~if~~ after they let me out of here and publish it for me. And _if_ they don't let me out, that guarantees academia'll study me, right? I can't be that stylistically different from Sade, right? 

After all, to paraphrase Roland Barthes, if you aren't impressed by the violent-sex-cum-satire, Sade is kinda fucking boring.

* * *

Once Paul is cleaned up a bit and his legs are freed, he grabs Patryck, pulling their bodies flush and climbing atop him, flesh so flushed and warm Patryck can feel it through his thin layer of clothes. Paul’s kisses are sloppy, but Pat returns them, hands carding through Paul’s hair until Paul’s own hands go for his boxers.

Pat yanks him away. “Not right now.”

“But—“

“No.” With that, the hand in Paul’s hair tightens, making his scalp burn. “Understand?”

Paul nods, as best as he’s able. “Yes sir.”

“Good.” And so Patryck kisses him tenderly. "Now go get the green one over there."

* * *

Paul moans as Edd slides into him; no wonder he’d felt the need to try to stretch Paul a little more.

“You okay?” Edd asks, running a large but gentle hand through Paul’s hair. Paul nods and gives a thumbs up, before nuzzling further into Patryck’s embrace.

“You know,” Tord starts to say, taking in the placement of his soldiers’ bodies. “You could do this the way they do in hen—“

“Tord I will gun you down." 

"Sexy." 

Patryck reaches above his head for a weapon and ends up throwing one of Matt's shoes at him.

With that, Patryck turns his attention back to Paul and Edd, reaching up to pull Paul’s cheeks further apart. “Ready big guy?”

“Who me? — Oh.” Edd blinks, smiles sheepishly, says, “Yeah, I’m ready” as he starts to feed more of his cock into Paul, groaning at the wet heat. Watching in fascination as the movement pushes out some of the others’ cum, dripping onto both men's balls and thighs.

“Having fun back there?” Paul asks, voice thick with pleasure as he throws his hips backwards, hears the sharp uptick in Edd’s breath as the motion pushes him in to the hilt. 

Edd stutters again—“Oh yeah, sorry, uhh—" He pulls out, moaning as Paul clenches around him, too lost to notice the smug smiles on both pilots’ faces. “Just let me know if I’m hurting you or anything, alright?”

“Of course,” Patryck answers in his steed, holding back the temptation to point out every bruise and bite mark and hand print on Paul’s body, all of which he knows Edd saw the making of — what’s the harm in being a little nervous?

Edd begins with a slow, deep rhythm, angling his hips up the way he’d seen the others do, grazing Paul’s prostate with every thrust. Paul moans into the nape of Patryck’s neck, gasping in a shaky breath as Edd reaches down and encircles his leaking cock.

“L-like that?” Edd asks. He has to bite his lip to keep his sounds in, bending forward until his forehead rests against Paul’s spine, feeling the sweat pooled between each marble disc.

Patryck taps Paul on the shoulder, prompting the larger man to lift himself up onto his hands. 

“Ah ah ah,” Patryck chides, gripping Edd’s chin, running his thumb along the seam of Edd’s wet, bruised lips. “Don’t hold it in. Let us hear you.” 

 _“I’m –”_ Edd hisses as he feels Paul tighten around him again. Paul practically purrs.

Edd feels like something is missing – like, shouldn’t he be driving Paul’s hips into Patryck, what with Pat quickly settling underneath them both again? Or Paul swallowing his cock? That’s how this works, right? 

Patryck's brown face seems plenty flushed though, golden eyes glazing over as Edd grinds himself against Paul, finding another spot that makes Paul's gruff voice raise an octave. 

Patryck holds one of Edd's hands while the other is busy leaving tracts in Paul’s hip, Pat's own free hand snaked between Paul's legs to jerk him in time with Edd's thrusts. Edd tries to be a little louder than is natural to him; Paul cums twice on Patryck's black singlet. 

So they all seem to enjoy it.

* * *

They haven't brought me any food or water yet; I've been licking at what drips down from the halls but it doesn't really do much at all. Tastes awful too. I know it's technically possible to eat a light bulb, but I doubt their caloric or nutritional value. 

“What’s the color, Pat?” Tord asks breathlessly, falling back into the chair and not bothering to tuck away his now-flaccid cock.

Patryck feels himself through his boxers— the wetness there between his legs, the almost unendurable tightness in his stomach which is pulled tighter still with each soft swipe of his finger.

The slutty one seems to be enjoying taking Tord's place, practically drooling as Paul takes him in his mouth, as the green one continues to fuck him with abandon, his blunt nails dragging pink streaks along Paul's hips.

He thinks for a moment, considers. Finally he says carefully, eyes downcast from Tord’s questioning stare. “Yellow.”

* * *

Back however fucking long ago, I had another gangbang fic where everyone was fucking while Tord was rushing to complete a 50,000 word Karl Marx/Friedrich Engels/Reader fic in only 24 hours to win the privilege of taking Tom’s skullfucking virginity. And one of the subplots I'd intended was for Patryck to get jealous of the quick bond Paul and Matt form – because Matt is comfortable taking it in the vag and Pat isn’t. “Every bi guy’s dream,” is how one trans guy described himself on his porn blog.

“I don’t know how you stand it,” Patryck says, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“Stand what ?” Matt asks, propped against the doorway, thighs glossy with slick and saliva and cum.

Patryck gestures to said thighs. “That.” He’s staring off past the fence, past the rose-bellied clouds to the sun beginning to set, slouched over with one hand holding his cig and the other dangling between his long legs. “I tried with Paul once,” he continues, taking the question right out of Matt’s mouth. “He hadn’t even gotten in all the way before I nearly threw up.”

Matt cringes. “Yeesh.”

A small noise of acknowledgement.

“Well,” Matt says, sitting down beside him, naked skin glowing with bright lava flecks in the dying light. “I mean, mostly I just like it because it feels nice. But really only with people I know well, y’know?”

 _Wow, so you mean like all sex?_   That nasty voice in Pat’s head. _How insightful._

Patryck nods, takes a drag. “I suppose.”

“These other hoes can’t be trusted,” and Matt holds out his hand.

Patryck stares at it.

“C’mon, we’re sharing a bonding moment!” Matt cries indignantly. 

Patryck makes a face somewhere being pain and displeased puppet until Matt laughs and yanks the cig out of his hand. Pat lets him.

From inside the house, they hear the curse and shout of someone climaxing again.

From inside the house, they turn and see through the sliding glass doors Paul stumble back into the mountain of empty pizza boxes, laughing loud and breathlessly.

From inside the house, they watch Tord, allegory of my last brain cell, manage to beat Tom away from the speakers long enough to play “What Are You Doing After The Orgy?", a song about friendship blooming in even the strangest circumstances.

**Author's Note:**

> Mmm, crunchy.


End file.
